Stay Weird, Dude
by Kitty Burglar
Summary: When Harry throws his bedframe out the window, many things (but not all) change. Like the neighbours criminal record, for instance.
1. Chapter 1

Harry was in a bad mood. But then again, these days he was almost always in a bad mood.

He rose from his dilapidated desk chair to stalk angrily around his moonlit room. He glanced at the cracked mirror that Aunt Petunia had made him move to his bedroom, and noticed that he almost be a Snape impersonator. Harry sneered at his dusty reflection. How delightful. He looked like a gigantic bat. He stepped forwards, and scowled at the mirror in a bad impression of Draco Malfoy.

"Just wait until my father hears about this!" Harry said nasally. "Now why couldn't I be a metamorphmagus?"

He strutted around, trying his best to look like a peacock. Stopping, he spat in his hand to try to smooth down his hair and blew a kiss at his reflection. "See you later, beautiful!" he giggled.

Trying to look beguiling but failing utterly, Harry sashayed across the room and flung himself melodramatically onto his bed. With a shudder and a long, drawn out creak, it collapsed, sending him onto the floor. Harry pouted and rubbed his head where it had slammed into his bedframe. He glared at the offending object accusingly, dragged the mattress off of it, and threw the bedframe out the window, shattering the windowpane. There was a heavy thunk, and a car alarm went off. Harry stuck his head out of the broken window, feeling hugely interested. The dim, yellow glow of the streetlamp lit up the sight of his bedframe. It was embedded in the Volkswagen parked outside of Number Six.

Harry raised an eyebrow sceptically. "I didn't know it was that heavy," he muttered.

The door of Number Six opened with a loud crash, and a short, wiry man came rushing out, holding a baseball bat menacingly. "My bloody car!" he roared. "What in the blazes has happened to my bloody car!"

The window of Number Five across the street was hurled open with enough force to make several shingles fall off the roof. "_Shut up,_ you old codger!" a woman screeched. "It's on the wrong side of midnight!"

"A bedframe landed on my car!" the man shouted back. "And I'll be buggered if it wasn't that hooligan that lives with the Dursleys! Oh, that ruffian will be feeling the back of my hand, you bet my word!"

"I don't care if he burned down your house! Now shut up and go back to bed!" And with that, the window of Number Seven was slammed shut.

Harry leaned back onto his mattress and grinned. Ah, vandalism was good for the soul. Tapping his forefinger against a piece of broken glass thoughtfully, he wondered if he should take Uncle Vernon's car for a joyride the next day. Or perhaps tonight. Whatever, who cared really? Well, Uncle Vernon of course, but he didn't really matter, Harry assured himself. He, Harry was the only person who ever mattered. And Ron and Hermione too, obviously.

Rolling over, he decided that taking Uncle Vernon's car out for a joyride could wait. After all, he needed his rest if he was to learn how to become a complete hoodlum.

Harry grinned. He was starting to sound like Hermione. Maybe he could help her loosen up a bit, let her hair down and all that.

Harry drifted off to sleep, dreaming of Hermione dressed in drag and setting fire to Snape, cackling dementedly as the grease in his hair burned.


	2. Chapter 2

The next morning, Harry woke up feeling refreshed and dastardly. He looked out the window. A pickup truck was winching the Volkswagen up onto its trunk. The man from the night before was standing off to the side, looking seriously hosed and angry. He was swaying drunkenly from side to side, waving a half-empty beer bottle in his left fist.

"My car!" he was yelling. "My bloody car!"

The driver of the tow truck walked over to the distraught man, saying something in a conciliatory manner. Harry couldn't hear what he was saying, but it was probably something along the lines of 'calm down, dude.'

The tactic didn't work, as the inhabitant of Number Six attacked the driver furiously, bellowing a war cry and smashing his beer bottle on the man's head.

The two of them fought for a good fifteen minutes, until the sound of a wailing siren penetrated Harry's ears. A police car rushed up, lights flashing. A pair of cops jumped out and promptly stuffed both men in the back seat. Harry laughed appreciatively as they were tazed, and the cop car drove off, leaving smoke burns on the asphalt. He would simply have to get a tazer. Dreamy-eyed, he imagined himself tazing Dudley. There would be the burnt smell of electrocuted pig, and Dudley would be holding his bottom, squealing in pain. It would be glorious.

Jumping off of his bed, Harry moseyed over to the door and turned the doorknob. The door didn't move, so he yanked on it. Still no movement.

Fed up with this crap, Harry looked around his bedroom for a handy piece of junk to knock down the door. He didn't see anything, so he ran at the door and kicked it as hard as he could.

"Arrrgh!" Harry roared in pain, clutching his throbbing foot and hopping up and down, eyes watering in agony as the door seemed to mock him wordlessly. "Stupid door!"

He limped over to the doorknob and tried to open it again. The door swung open, and Harry felt his face heat up as he valiantly fought to keep his temper under control.

He didn't succeed. Harry screamed his rage at the door, swearing at it furiously and calling it every insult under the sun.

The door stood there.

With a blast of anger, a burst of accidental magic annihilated the door. Harry stared at the pile of ashes and the charred walls, feeling immensely vindicated. He decided that doors were the evilest furniture of all time.

Harry frowned. Had he just used bad grammar in that last sentence? He shook his head. Nope. Definitely not. Harry Potter never did, and never would, use bad grammar.

Harry turned away from his non-existent door and marched down the stairs. He swaggered into the living room, trying his absolute best to look like a badass villain.

Aunt Petunia was sitting on the couch with the horrible orange and green stripes, reading what looked like a magazine on how to seduce hot girls. Upon seeing him, she stuffed it hurriedly behind a couch cushion. Harry took notice. Was Aunt Petunia a lesbian? Harry vowed to check it out if he ever had the time.

"What was with all of that yelling outside just now?" Aunt Petunia asked him.

"Oh, a policeman dragged the man who lives in Number Six away, along with the guy that he was fighting with. He was drunk."

"Really? I wonder if he's married." Aunt Petunia muttered. Harry decided that she was definitely a lesbian.

"Dunno," Harry said, and shrugged. He wandered into the kitchen and made himself an enormous sandwich. As he walked through the living room back to his now door-less bedroom, a large dollop of mustard slid out of the sandwich onto the white shag carpet.

Aunt Petunia gasped in horror. "You!" she screamed. "You – you ruffian! My carpet! How dare you!"

Aunt Petunia glared at Harry, gnashing her teeth furiously. Her pale skin was turning red with anger, and she was flexing her fingers as if she'd like nothing more than to wring his neck.

Harry watched her nervously. Aunt Petunia launched herself at him, screaming like a banshee. Harry yelled in fright and fell over backwards. Who knew that Aunt Petunia could be so violent?

Scrambling to his feet, Harry barely avoided the frying pan that his enraged aunt swung at him. He dodged, and made for the door. As he raced away down the street, he had a sinking feeling. He had forgotten nearly everything that he owned. The only items he had on him were his invisibility cloak and his wand.


	3. Chapter 3

Later that day, Harry was hiding in the bushes under his invisibility cloak across the street from Number Four, feeling like a secret agent.

"Target in sight," he whispered to his wrist, "I will soon be able to procure the items."

Harry hummed the James Bond theme song to himself and leaned back on the rose bushes, feeling content.

Several hours later, dusk had finally descended. Under his cloak, Harry sidled across the street to Number Four, stopping just under his bedroom window. He lifted his wrist to his mouth again. "A break-in is imminent!" he muttered. "Repeat, a break-in is imminent… committed by me, of course."

Harry grinned to himself under his invisibility cloak. He loved playing secret agent.

"Port me up!" he said, and pointed his wand at himself. "Wingardium leviosa!"

Slowly Harry floated up through the air. As he levitated through the window, he glanced at Hedwig's cage. It was empty. His bedroom was just how he had left it. That is, with no door and scorched walls. He let himself down gently and crept across the floor, careful to avoid the creaky sections of the floor. Harry dragged his mattress out of the way of the loose floorboards. He knelt, and carefully pried them up.

Suddenly Harry felt something land on his shoulder. He gasped, startled, and looked at it. It was a plain, brown owl, the kind you might see carrying off mice. It had a parcel attached to its leg. It was the midnight edition of the Daily Prophet.

"Yeah, yeah, whatever," he grumbled, and hurled the Prophet out the window. The owl stared at him, and stuck out its leg expectantly. A small pouch was dangling on it. Harry rolled his eyes. "Fine," he said, and grudgingly stuffed in three knuts.

The owl flew off to wherever, and Harry frowned. Come to think about it, why hadn't he received a letter from the underage magic office? Had he been emancipated overnight? Harry made a mental note to check it out as soon as he was able, and bent back down to the task at hand: getting his stuff out of Number Four. He turned his attention back to the hole in the floor and removed from it his photo album and the pocket sneakoscope that Ron had once given him. He grabbed Hedwig's cage from the shelf that it resided on, and left the room. Harry didn't bother to replace the floorboards. It wasn't like there was any point, after all. He never intended to come back to this God-forsaken place.

Harry cautiously made his way down the stairwell, left hand clutching the bannister to try to take some of his weight off the stairs. They were quite creaky, and he didn't want to risk disturbing the Dursleys slumber and bringing their wrath down upon him. Quietly he crept over to his old cupboard. He jiggled the many locks, and paused. Since the Ministry hadn't sent him any admonitions, did that mean he could do magic? He hesitated briefly, before lifting his wand and whispering, "Alohomora!"

The locks clicked, and the cupboard door swung open with a slight creak. Harry waited with baited breath. Would the Dursleys hear him? Would the ministry detect him? Harry stood there, still as a statue, for five heart-pounding minutes before he relaxed. The Dursleys hadn't awoken. An owl bearing the Ministry of Magic seal and letterhead hadn't come.

Harry breathed a sigh of relief, and levitated his trunk out of the cupboard, slipping soundlessly out the door and onto Privet Drive.

Standing on the end of Privet Drive, Harry stuck out his wand to summon the night bus. It popped into existence, as large and as purple as ever. The door swung open, revealing Stan Shunpike in all of his pimply, acned glory.

"Hello there!" he announced. "I'm Stan Shunpike, and I will be your conductor for this eveni – Oh blimey! Wotcher, Harry! Ern! You'll never believe this! It's Harry Potter again!" Stan peered at Harry happily. "Good to see you again, Harry! What can we do for you today?"

"Well," Harry said as he followed Stan into the night bus, "I'd like to go to the Leaky Cauldron." He rummaged around in his pockets for the fare and handed it to Stan.

"Running away from home again then, eh?" Stan replied as he counted the galleons. "Here's your change, by the way."

"Yeah, thanks," Harry said. He pocketed the change and walked over to sit on a bed.

"Take her away Ern!" Stan yelled.

"Take her away!" the old man in the driver's seat yelled back, and with a squeal of tires they were off, leaving smoke burns on the asphalt.

Riding the night bus was just like Harry remembered it: uncomfortable. As he was flung about growing dizzier and more nauseous be the second, he wondered why people would do this to themselves. Maybe they liked it.

Sometime during the horrible journey that was his trip, an idea occurred to him: thrill seekers would love this! Harry grinned. It'd be great if he could turn Hogwarts into an amusement park.

The night bus abruptly screeched to a halt, sending Harry flying into the wall.

"Here we are!" Stan said. "The Leaky Cauldron!"

Harry smiled tightly at Stan and disembarked, levitating his trunk behind him. He entered the Leaky Cauldron, and walked over to where Tom the barkeeper was manning the counter.

"Hello Tom. Can I have a room, please? I'll be staying until school starts up again."

The old man grinned, showing off his single tooth. "Sure thing," he said. "That'll be twenty galleons, twelve knuts." He handed Harry a key. "Room twelve."

As Harry entered his room and sighed. It felt as if it had been the longest day in his life. He dumped his trunk by the mirror and flopped down on the bed, falling asleep almost immediately.


	4. Chapter 4

In a bed at the Leaky Cauldron, something snorted. It was covered completely in a large, poufy duvet.

Harry rolled over and groaned. He had been having such a wonderful dream. It had involved Draco Malfoy trying to climb a tree and fly without a broom. He had failed, of course. Harry grinned as he remembered the sight of Malfoy screaming in pain on the ground.

Harry jumped out of bed, literally. He landed on the floor in a crouch, wand outstretched.

"Really, dear," the mirror twittered, "There's no need for that."

Harry ignored it and straightened, dusting off his pajama bottoms self-consciously. He turned to his trunk and pulled on some clothes. He had things to do today, like finding out why he could apparently do magic outside of school. Feeling full of vim and vigor, he strode confidently out of the room.

Harry walked through the back wall of the Leaky Cauldron into Diagon Alley. It was teaming with people, all in different styles of clothing. Harry made his way through the throng of witches and wizards with his head down, trying not to attract too much attention. He eventually managed to get to Flourish And Blott's. He sighed in relief. It had taken him at least half an hour, the crowds were so thick. Happily, it was a bit better in the store.

The first place Harry looked for something on underage magic was in the U section. It wasn't there. Annoyed, he combed through the legal section.

After a while, Harry gave up. He had been totally unable to find anything that might help him find out what was going on. He was utterly exhausted and sick to death of flipping endlessly through books. His search had been fruitless. He stalked angrily out of Flourish and Blott's, slamming the door so hard that the little bell over it fell down and hit a man on the head. Paying no attention to the pained yelp behind him, Harry marched back to the Leaky Cauldron. Once he arrived, he threw himself onto his bed and had a good long sulk.

For the next few weeks, Harry hung out in Diagon Alley. One night, the school owl came, with his books for fifth year, and along with it birthday presents from Ron and Hermione.

Harry stared at them disbelievingly. The present from Hermione was, simply put, enormous. He hefted it experimentally. How the hell had Hedwig been able to carry this?

There was a weak hoot on the floor, and Harry peered over the edge of the bed. Laying there were three other owls, apparently collapsed from exhaustion. Harry slid off the bed, and placed bowls of water near their beaks, along with some owl kibble. They nibbled at it slowly.

The matter resolved, Harry turned his attention back to the gigantic present. It was wrapped in garish wallpaper, for some reason. He winced. It looked like it came straight out of the 70's. He unwrapped it with great difficulty. The wallpaper was incredibly thick, not to mention that it was covered in duck tape. Finally, Harry was finished. He looked at the gift. It was a book, of course, although even for Hermione it was exceedingly large. It must have weighed at least ten pounds, if not more. The title read, "Several Thousand Ways to Dispatch of Your Enemies (Caution: Many of These Are Exceedingly Painful, Not to Mention Illegal of Course, But You Probably Don't Want to Bother With That Seeing as You Bought This Book in the First Place.)

Harry stared. What an… interesting… title. He opened the book gingerly, and a note from Hermione fell out.

_Dear Harry_

_I hope that you are well, and getting up to no good (as usual, of course. I expect nothing less from you, you know!) I saw this book in the window of Truly Terrible Tomes, a bookshop in Knockturn Alley. When I saw it, I just knew you had to have it! After that debacle last year, what with the tournament and all, I thought it best for you to have material such as this, in order to learn how to slay you enemies properly. No more evil spirit-raising for YOU, Harry James Potter (unless I am there to supervise, of course)_

_I know you may want to inquire what I was doing in Knockturn Alley in the first place. The answer is that I don`t feel like telling you right now._

_See you on the Express!_

_Hermione (DL)_

For a moment, Harry could only wonder if Hermione had gone insane. What did DL mean anyways? Deathly Love? Or perhaps something more sinister… Like DARK LORD! Harry snorted. Yeah, right. Totally. And he was madly in love with Ginny. Wait… He was, wasn't he? Ehh, whatever. Who cared really? Forgetting about Ginny and the mysterious characters DL entirely, he moved on to Ron's present. It was a much more reasonable size that Hermione's, and not wrapped in wallpaper. Instead, the wrapping paper was day-glow orange. Much more sensible than wallpaper, Harry thought approvingly. Plus, how did Ron know that he liked day-glow? He opened the card attached to the present.

_Happy Birthday Harry!_

_Hermione refused to let me pick out your present. That's all I can say, dude. Speaking of which, she's been acting really odd lately. She's been muttering something about how "they must get together at once" and "slash". Do you know what "slash" is? Because I certainly don't._

Harry frowned. That sounded ominous. Hermione was such a control freak, not even letting Ron pick out his present! He pouted. What a meanie.

Harry opened his present carefully. What with Hermione's current state of mind, it might be dangerous.

It wasn't. The contents of the parcel tumbled out onto the bed. His present was clothes, and several posters of Draco Malfoy. He held up one of the posters, staring at it. In it, Malfoy was biting the tip of his finger… saucily, and wearing a fluffy white dressing gown that was open to his bellybutton. His hair was tousled and dripping, and Harry shuddered to think that he was wearing nothing under the dressing gown. The poster winked at him suggestively, running a hand down its body. Harry practically threw it away from him.

Harry turned away from the aberration, and held up some of the clothes. They appeared to be mainly mini-skirts, although there were a few corsets for whatever reason, and also a pair of high heels. Harry couldn't help but wonder if Hermione thought that he'd suddenly been turned into a girl. As Harry tossed the clothes off his bed, a small, plainly wrapped package fell out of the pockets of one of the mini-skirts.

Inquisitive, Harry picked it up off the ground and unwrapped it.

Thongs. It was thongs, many of them lacy and incredibly colourful. He stared at them for a few moments, and stuffed them under his pillow, away from his view.

Harry yawned, and looked at the time. 12:37. He undressed himself, and flicking off the lights with his wand, crawled into bed. He fell asleep quickly, and dreamt of Hermione trying to change him into a girl.


	5. Chapter 5

"TOOT! TOOT!" The Hogwarts Express whistled.

"That _so_ reminds me of Thomas the Train," a certain bespectacled boy muttered.

"I mean, look at it, Hedwig," he said, turning to a snowy owl in a cage, "It's _bright red,_ for Merlin's sake." Harry, for that was who the boy was (Duh, do I have to point that out to you?) scowled at the unrepentant train. It whistled again, sounding smug somehow. (The Hogwarts Express is a train, after all, and cannot have feelings. Although this is a magical train, so that must be taken into the equation.)

Harry snarled at it in a manner reminiscent to Snape. Several people gave him crept-out looks, edging away not so subtly.  
"Dursley-impersonaters," he said, and stalked towards the train, his cloak flaring, again, just like Snapes. (This seems to be becoming a trend, one cannot help noticing. That's two Snape comparisons and we're not even a two hundred words in.) Hauling his trunk into the train, he began his search for an empty compartment. Unfortunately, there were none, so he began searching for his friends, although he was a bit leery of Hermione at the moment.

Eventually he found Neville sitting in a compartment with some chick. "Hi there sweet thang," Harry said to her, whipping off a pair of sunglasses that had been non-existent a few seconds ago and flipping his hair.

The girl lowered her magazine. "Harry Potter," she said. Her voice was dreamy, like cotton candy, Harry noticed.

"You're drooling, you know," the girl said.

Harry's mouth snapped shut and he whipped his sunglasses back over his eyes, where they vanished back into the realm of impossibility.

"Harry, meet Luna Lovegood, Luna, meet Harry Potter," Neville said from where he had somehow remained unnoticed.

"Merlin she's hot," Harry muttered. Luna giggled appreciatively, and fluttered her eyelashes at him. "Yummy!" Harry slobbered, getting drool all over his shirt.

"Hello? Anyone want to see my new plant?" Neville said, waving it about. "it's called a Mimbulus Mimbletonia, and it's very interest-"

"No one cares, Lardbottom," Harry said, and went back to undressing Luna with his eyes.

Neville's face crumpled silently, and he turned towards the window to hide the tears that were seeping out of his eyes. What a sissy.

"You know," Luna said, "you've always… fascinated me." Coyly, she coiled her fingers in her dirty blonde hair, teeth nibbling on her lower lip. She crossed her arms under her chest and leaned forwards. Harry couldn't help but stare at her cleavage. "Ah, ah, ahhh…" she cooed. "Bad boy!" and slapped him.

Harrys mouth fell open. "I think I'm in love," he mumbled dazedly.

When Ron and Hermione entered the cabin, an interesting sight met their eyes. Neville was huddled in the corner crying, and clutching his plant. Between sobs he was mumbling something about how the world would never be right again. Across the compartment, paying no attention whatsoever, was Harry and some girl. They seemed to be talking about imaginary animals.

"Harry, who is that hussy!?" Hermione roared.

Harry jerked out of his reverie, and stared at Hermione. Not to go into too much detail, because that's boring, let's just say that Hermione was dressed very provocatively.

"Nice boobs, Herms!" Harry blurted. He cringed, awaiting the inevitable lecture on how it was rude to compliment certain parts of a women's anatomy. To his surprise, Hermione simply steamrolled over him, yelling something about he was supposed to be with Draco Malfoy, not this smarmy little chit.

The cabin door smashed open with such force that its windowpane shattered. "Someone say my name?" Draco Malfoy drawled. "Also, Granger, what the hell is with your hair? It looks frizzier than ever."

Hermione whipped around to stare at him, eyes sparkling in unholy glee, and Harry snuck a glance at her hair. Malfoy was right, it was incredibly frizzy. "YES!" Hermione exclaimed. "Harry was just getting up the courage to ask you out on a date!"

"I SAID NO SUCH THING!" Harry roared. To prove his point, he turned and immediately began snogging Luna.

"I'm a prefect, you know," Ron said, grinning like a drunken idiot. Which he may have been, if the bottle of Firewhiskey in his hand was any indication. He giggled and took a swig, waving his prefect badge through the air.

Harry rolled his eyes and grunted. He would have said more, but him and Luna were having a tongue battle.

Malfoy stared at Hermione for a few seconds, and walked out, picking his way gingerly over the broken glass. "You never answered my question about your hair, you know!" He shouted back over his shoulder.

"Freaks!" he said, and left, swaggering down the corridor melodramatically.

Hermione scowled. "Really, Harry, _you are meant to be with Draco!_"

Harry detached himself from Luna with a wet sucking sound. "No, I'm not," he said, exasperated. "I hate him."

Hermione shook her head pityingly. "You'll see, Harry," she murmured. "You'll see. You can't fight destiny forever, you know."

"Destiny my arse." Harry muttered.

"You are indeed a very good kisser, Harry Potter, but I've snogged better." Luna said dreamily.

Harry rolled his eyes. "Oh come on Luna, nobody's a better kisser than me."

"I am!" Ron slurred. He sat down beside Luna and smirked at her seductively. "C'mon, wanna give the good ol' sidekick a go? I'm better than he is, I promise."

"UNHAND LUNA IMMEDIATLEY!" Harry bellowed. He backhanded Ron across the face so hard that he flew through the broken compartment door, landing in the broken glass. Ron gave a strangled moan of pain, twitching feebly.

"Harry, don't you think that you should repair that door?" Hermione said, exasperated.

"Hey, I didn't break it! It was Malfoy!"

"Yes, but he isn't MY future boyfriend."

"Well, too bad, because he's not mine either."

Momentarily stunned into silence by Harry's magnificent insight, Hermione jabbed her wand at the compartment door.

"Reparo," she sighed, and the pieces of broken glass flew through the air back into the door, eliciting a shriek of pain from Ron. Quite a few of the glass shards had been embedded in him, after all, and had had to rip their way through his body to get to the door. Soon, the door was back to normal, although slightly bloodstained.

"I can't believe you just did that to Ron!" Neville screeched. Everyone (except Ron, who was still screaming on the floor) turned to look at him, surprised.

"Cut it out!" Harry said, massaging his ears. "Hey, when did you get here?"

"What? Forget about me already? I'VE BEEN HERE ALL ALONG, YOU – YOU – B-WORD!"

"Ha ha!" Hermione jeered. "Neville can't even say the word "bastard" Harry! Ha ha, ha ha, ha ha! What a baby!"

Neville burst into tears and raced out of the compartment, slamming the door behind him. It cracked ominously, but held. There was a loud crunching sound as he ran over Ron's face in his hurry to escape.

"Harry Potter? Do you think we should heal Ronald?" Luna said tremulously.

Harry looked over at Ron. Blood was gushing from his broken face and mainly everywhere else on his body.

"Huh? Pfft, nah. He can handle it, and I don't know how anyways. Also, stop calling me by my full name, ok? It's getting more than a bit creepy."

"I know some healing spells," Hermione chimed in.

"Well then, you do it!"


	6. Chapter 6

Harry debarked from the Hogwarts Express, humming merrily to himself. "Hogwarts, here I come!" he screamed. "Look out, for it is I, the most terrifying person ever!" He threw his head back and laughed manically at the sky, shaking his fists.

"Harry, what are you doing!?" Hermione hissed. Harry couldn't help but notice that her face had gone bright red, and that she appeared to be trying to hide herself.

"Practicing my evil laugh, of course!" Harry yelled. The people in a 3-metre radius all winced. The boy had a pair of lungs bigger than Molly Weasleys.

Hermione relaxed. "Oh, well, that's all right then," she said. "But you're doing it all wrong, you know. Here, let me demonstrate." She cleared her throat noisily. "MUAHAHAHAHA! MUAHAHAHAHAHA!" she cackled.

Harry gazed at her in admiration. "How did you learn to do that?" he exclaimed, gaping at her like a drowning fish. (Fish drown in air, so this makes sense.)

"Trade secrets," Hermione said airily. (Of course, it had actually been hours of practice in front of a mirror, but Harry didn't need to know that.)

"You are very good at cackling evilly, Hermione, almost as good as the Snappering Snoozpoczers." a dreamy voice said.

Harry screamed and jumped a foot in the air. "WHAT THE HELL, LUNA!" he roared. A nearby 2nd year fainted. Luna remained unaffected, although she looked slightly more dazed than usual.

"I JUST COMPLIMENTED HERMIONE! ALSO, I AM HAVING TROUBLE HEARING MYSELF RIGHT NOW! ARE YOU, TOO?! IS THAT WHY YOU YELLED, HARRY?!" She continued, in a more normal tone now. "We should go on a date."

"NEVER!" Hermione screamed. They had reached the horseless carriages by now, and Harry couldn't help but notice that her voice seemed to by scaring the weird skeleton thingies attached to it.

"Hermione, I think you frightened the undead horses," he said.

Hermione looked at him oddly. "There's no such thing as horse inferi, Harry. Trust me, I looked it up."

"Oh, those are thestrals, Harry," Luna said as they climbed into the carriage. "They can only be seen by those that have seen death. Did you know, Daddy thinks that they're distantly related to-"

"So how about that date then, Luna?" Harry interrupted, desperate to escape her monologue. "Maybe if the weather's nice we could go for a walk around the lake? Or something?"

"I TOLD YOU HARRY, YOU ARE NOT DATING THAT HUSSY! YOU AND MALFOY ARE DESTINED TO BE TOGETHER! IT HAS BEEN PREDICTED!"

"…Hermione, you abhor divination. Why the sudden change of heart?" Harry said.

Hermione sighed, and her eyes went all starry, much as they had in 2nd year when she had that fixation on Lockhart. "Don't you know? You and Draco are the One True Pairing."

"Great, I can practically hear the capitals."

They disembarked from the carriage, and began the long, arduous walk up to the castle. As they, and the other students all scrambled up a particularly treacherous hill, Harry wondered why no one had made the carriages closer to the castle.

Harry, Luna and Hermione walked through a bog, Hermione still berating Luna furiously.

About halfway through, Colin Creavy came panting up to him. "Hi, Harry," he said. That was as far as he got, though, because Harry shoved him into a particularly gooey section of the bog.

"Bugger off, Colin, I'm busy," he said absentmindedly. He continued on his way, ignoring Colin's indignant yells.

Hermione scowled and rolled her eyes.

Harry, Hermione, and Luna trooped into the Great Hall, looking slightly worse for wear. They sat down at the Gryffindor table, and Hermione cleared her throat. "Ahem. Luna, aren't you a Ravenclaw?" She inquired frostily.

Luna looked down at her badge. "Why, so I am!" She exclaimed delightedly. "How fascinating!" She got up and skipped merrily over to the Ravenclaw table.

"Thank Merlin!" Hermione said, and smirked. "Anyways, Harry, just look at Malfoy! Isn't he hot?!"

But Harry wasn't paying attention. "Where's Ron?" he said, frowning.

"Oh, Madam Pomfrey took him away while you weren't paying attention."

"You didn't heal him?!"

"Only a little bit. Harry, please try to stay attentive while I'm telling you about your future love interest."

"BLOODY HELL, HERMIONE! I AM NOT, REPEAT, NOT IN LOVE WITH MALFOY!" he roared.

The Great Hall fell silent. The entire student body, and the teachers, stared at him accusingly, wondering why he had interrupted their dinner. "Well, I'm not," he said defensively. As one, the students turned their backs on him and continued talking with their friends. The professors rolled their eyes and did the same.

The rest of the feast went without incident, and Harry clapped dutifully whenever a student was sorted into Gryffindor. Ron strolled up to them just as 'Zuko, Danielle' was called, and sorted into Hufflepuff.

"Ron, you're all right!" Harry said happily.

"Yeah, but I'm rather curious as to why I'm not mad at you for getting broken glass buried in my back." Ron paused. "You know, that sort of rhymes!"

Hermione sniffed disapprovingly. "No, Ron, it's called alliteration. Poetry is when it rhymes, although it quite often doesn't, which is incredibly interesting considering the fact that many people are under the assumption that poetry must rhyme at all times. This, of course, is a complete mistake, bec -"

"Yeah, whatever, who cares anyways?" Ron said, cutting her out to prevent an oncoming rant. He turned to Harry. "Mate, where's that girl you were sitting on the train with?"

Harry didn't answer, but that was because the food had finally appeared on the table. He promptly seized the spiciest dishes he could find, although since this was Britain, and not, say, Mexico, they weren't that spicy at all.

Ron looked at his plate. "What are you doing, trying to breathe fire?"

Harry grinned evilly. "Exactly. I figured I'd try to fry the teacher in pink that looks like a toad once I've gotten used to the REALLY spicy stuff."

Just as he said that, the pink toad in question stood up. "Now that you are all fed," she began, "The Ministry has-"

"But we haven't even started yet!" Someone at the Slytherin table screamed.

The pink toad face-palmed, and sat back down grudgingly.

Once the student body had finished eating, the Pink Toad stood up once more. "NOW that you are all finished stuffing your faces, I will give you a short lecture on why I am here, and the Ministry's future plans for-"

However, she got no further, because the students, in a single minded moment of clarity, knew that they had to escape the _evilness that was the Pink Toad. _

In the moments of chaos that followed, the Pink Toad was hit by masses of jinxes as the students stampeded out of the Great Hall. Quite a few of the nastier curses were, interestingly enough, sent by the Hufflepuffs. Take that, Junior-Death-Eaters-In-Training! Who's evil now, huh?!

The Pink Toad and the teachers were left choking on dust in the now-empty Great Hall.


End file.
